


wash me over until my well runs dry

by duva, fictionalcandie



Series: the superfruit queen bey collection [3]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Anal Sex, Cockblocking, Hotel Sex, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5994469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duva/pseuds/duva, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Mitch are on the same page—for <em>real</em>, this time—but that doesn't mean there's not more to their story.</p><p>[Porn. There's porn to their story.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	wash me over until my well runs dry

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Rocket_ by Beyoncé. Fake usernames courtesy of Lia and Sarah! Thank you guys!! (Any similarity to actual usernames is unintentional and purely coincidental.)
> 
> fictionalcandie's notes: no stop don't look at me. this isn't my fault. um. enjoy our valentine to y'all? :P
> 
> duva's notes: HIDE YO KIDS HIDE... yourself. Boy howdy. Happy V Day, here's some filth. Special shout out to the DM girls <3

Scott is minding his own business, drinking his Starbucks and waiting for everyone to get back from the bathroom or wherever so that soundcheck can start, when tiny strong arms catch him around the waist from behind. They _squeeze_. Somebody’s head presses against his spine in the middle of his back.

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Uh,” Scott says, holding very still to make sure he doesn’t accidentally spill his latte. “Hi, Kirstie.”

“I just wanted you to know,” she says, without letting go. She is holding on really very hard. It’s probably supposed to be a hug.

“Thanks,” Scott says. “I think.”

“And also I’m sorry I was so grouchy,” she goes on. “It was just so hard, okay, to be in the middle of, y’know, _that_.”

“I’m sure it was,” Scott says, though he has no idea what she’s talking about, really, none.

Absolutely _no idea_.

“No, I mean it. It sucked.” Somehow she manages to squeeze him miraculously tighter for a moment.

Denial is hard work, but Scott is still clueless. “I’m… sorry?”

“Which means you guys can’t _ever break up okay_ , if you do you’ll have to have joint friend custody, and you don’t want that, it’s always a giant pain,” Kirstie says.

“Uh, yeah,” Scott says, wincing. “I know, remember?”

There is a pause. “Yeah, well. I’m just saying.”

One more squeeze, then the arms unwind, and Kirstie steps around to stand in front of Scott. She’s smiling up at him, head already tipped back. “Sorry about _that_ , too,” she adds.

“It’s cool, don’t worry about it,” Scott says.

“I really am, though,” she says. “Happy for you.”

Scott starts to smile, he can't really help himself. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And Mitch,” she says. “Especially Mitch.”

#

“What about me?” Mitch asks, coming up just as Kirstie is saying something about him to Scott.

Kirstie makes a noise Mitch hasn't heard in a long time, and flings herself at him in a hug.

“I'm _so_ happy!” she crows, while she squeezes.

“Okay, awesome,” Mitch says back, making baffled eyes at Scott over her head and trying to convey _what is going on_ with just his face.

Scott must not understand it. Scott looks at them and smiles. He's _no_ help.

“So _happy_ ,” Kirstie tells Mitch, like he’s been there for the entire conversation.

Scott’s smile is so wide it’s in danger of permanently separating the top and bottom halves of his face.

“Happy is good,” Mitch hazards.

“Happy about _us_ ,” Scott says, thankfully clarifying things before Mitch can get _too_ nervous.

“Oh, yeah,” Mitch says, easy now. “So am I. Thanks, Kit.”

“Don’t fuck it up, okay,” Kirstie adds into Mitch’s shoulder, quiet like it’s maybe just for his ears. “And don’t let him fuck it up, either.”

“Not gonna happen,” he promises, and hugs her back.

#

“So,” Mitch says, when he gets Scott alone, “it turns out the gift shop does not sell lube.”

Scott blinks at him once, twice.

Mitch narrows his eyes. “What?”

“I cannot believe you actually checked, wow,” Scott says, starting to grin in a, frankly, dopey fashion. “No, wait, it’s _you_ , yes I actually totally can.”

“Yeah. So we’re gonna need to take a trip to good ol’ CVS.”

“When are we gonna have time to run out to the store,” Scott asks, still with the gooey look on his face.

“Well, we'll just have to—”

Esther, passing a couple feet away, stops and looks at them. A beat, then she comes over.

“Wait,” she says, in a slow voice, looking between them. She’s carrying a clipboard, for some reason, and she points the pen from it at them. “Are you two talking about what I _think_ you two are talking about?”

“Uh, we were just discussing how we need to do—some shopping,” Scott says, hopeful. Maybe she will leave it at that and go away.

Maybe she _won’t_.

“Well, that was specific,” she says. “What kind of shopping?”

“Just, uh, shopping.”

“And that wasn’t evasive at _all_.”

“No, really,” Scott says.

Esther does not seem impressed. She gives them pointed looks, all, _hello this is my actual job_ , and says, “Just tell me what you need, I’ll send a minion out.”

Mitch sends a horrified look at Scott, finds him looking back, wide-eyed and just as appalled. “Uhm, actually, no, thanks?” Mitch tries.

“Uhm, actually, _yes, please_ ,” Esther replies, her eyebrows going up. “That’s sort of the point of _having_ minions.”

“Really, we can go. Probably better we do it, really.”

At that, Esther rolls her eyes. “Probably _not_.”

“You don’t even know what—”

“You realize the more embarrassing it is, the worse an idea it is for either of you to get recognized buying it, right?” Esther asks. “Imagine, like, Kevin getting caught buying sex toys, or something.”

“Oh,” Scott says, in a fading voice.

“Uh-huh.”

“That was not a mental image I needed, thanks,” Mitch grumbles.

“My minions buy Avi’s condoms,” Esther says. “I have _lots_ of mental images I never needed.”

“Ew,” says Mitch, pulling a face.

“Ew _ew_ ,” says Scott, pulling the same one.

“Yeah,” says Esther.

“You’re still not sending them out for our—things,” Mitch tells her.

Esther sighs. She looks down at her phone, balanced on top the clipboard, then glances between them. “ _Is_ it condoms you’re buying? Because, seriously, it’s not a big deal, if it is.”

Mitch trades another look with Scott. “Um,” he says.

Scott clears his throat. Esther’s eyebrows twitch.

“The minions can buy lube, too,” she says.

“ _Esther_ ,” Scott hisses, voice rising like he’s scandalized.

“ _Scott_ ,” she mimics, giving him an unimpressed look. “They _can_ , is all I’m saying.”

“Having someone else buy your lube for you is _incredibly tacky_ ,” Mitch snaps. He pauses. “Not, uh, that that’s why we need to go to CVS.”

“It’s not _nearly_ as tacky as your moms finding out you’re banging via _some fan’s Instagram_ ,” she shoots back.

There's a moment’s silence for her words to settle.

“Why would you even say that,” Mitch asks.

“Because all it would take is _one_ PTX or Superfruit fan in the store with you, and that’s exactly what would happen,” Esther says. “You’ve both been on the internet, don’t even try to pretend like you don’t know it is.”

“Even if we _did_ get spotted, er, with _that_ ,” Scott starts.

“Which we won’t, because that’s not what we’d be buying,” Mitch interjects.

Scott nods, and continues, “How would they even know we’d be using it—together?”

Esther gives them a very flat stare. Mitch does his best to blink innocently back at her.

“Guys,” she says, not unkindly, “Scott just spent literally the entire soundcheck with either his eyes or _his freaking hand_ on your ass, Mitch. Trust me. _The fans would know_.”

“I did not have my—”

“Look, I don’t care,” Mitch snaps, throwing up his hands. “We can buy our own lube, okay, we’re _grown ups_. We’re going ourselves.”

“Okay, fine, I can’t _actually_ stop you,” Esther says, shaking her head. She gives them another of those unnerving stares. It’s honestly very intimidating. “But it’s your own fault if your parents never forgive you.”

“So I’ll call my mom,” Scott says.

“And tell her about our relationship that is _eighteen hours old_ ,” Mitch adds, frowning as the gravity of that thought sinks in. Shit, he’ll need to call his dad, too.

“Sixteen,” says Scott.

“No, it’s eighteen.”

“Wait, are we not counting from when we woke up?”

“We’re counting from the kissing.”

“I sort of feel like we should be counting from when we woke up.”

Mitch narrows his eyes. “We _could_ be counting from when I talked to Kevin.”

Scott opens his mouth. He closes it again. He clears his throat. “Okay,” he says, “so, eighteen hours old.”

“You should reenact that entire exchange for them,” Esther says, in a tone that says she probably imagines she’s being helpful.

“What,” Mitch says.

“No, really. They’ll love it.”

“You can stop being helpful any time, you know,” Mitch says.

“Sure, if I wanted to not get paid,” she agrees.

“So, _anyway_ ,” Scott says, and his hand closes around Mitch’s wrist, warm and huge and more than welcome. “We’re gonna go make some phone calls. While you find us a car and a CVS.”

“This is a terrible idea!” she yells at their backs.

#

Mom answers right away when Scott calls her.

“Hey, mom. Uh, listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

For what seems like a really long time but is probably only, like, a second or two, there’s silence on the other end of the line. Not even the faint static of somebody breathing against the microphone. Then he hears his mom suck in a sharp, deep breath.

“Mom? Are you—”

“Is the band breaking up?” Mom interrupts, voice all urgent.

“What?” Scott sputters. “Mom. No!”

“Did you pierce your tongue?” she demands next.

“ _What_.”

Before he can work out anything else to say, she’s going on, “Are you _sick_?”

“Mom, I’m not sick,” Scott says, covering his eyes with his free hand. He thinks he’s starting to see what this is about. He should’ve known not to start a conversation like _that_.

“Did someone die?”

“ _No_ , Mom.”

There’s another moment of silence, shorter this time. Scott would _like_ to think that means she’s done panicking, but—

“Did you _get a fan pregnant_?” Mom asks, not sounding _nearly_ as unhinged as a question like that would warrant.

“ _Mom_!”

“ _What_?” she says back, matching his tone. “Scott, you can’t just—say something like that, and not—”

“You didn’t need to assume, like, _awful_ stuff, mom,” Scott says. “‘Did I get a fan pregnant’, seriously?”

“So it’s not any of the awful stuff you’ve made me imagine?”

“No, no, nothing like that, it’s good news.” He pauses. Licks his lips and reminds himself there's no reason she won't be happy with this. "Well, _I_ think it’s good news, anyway. I, um.”

Another pause, because even though he knows, he _knows_ she already loves Mitch, this is awkward as hell.

“I’m seeing someone.”

Mom makes a big gusty noise like a relieved breath. “Oh, honey,” she say, expansive. Definitely relieved. “That’s great! It’s been awhile since—It’s _great_. Good for you.”

Scott licks his lips. He’s nervous about this next part, he shouldn’t be but he is. There’s no reason to be nervous; his mom really does love Mitch. “And that someone is, uh.” He pauses to swallow, and he can do this, it’s not actually hard though it feels like it _should_ be. Finishes, “It’s Mitch.”

There’s a pause. It’s long enough that Scott starts to wonder if he should have been nervous, after all. _More_ nervous.

“You mean— _Mitch_ Mitch?” Mom asks.

“Uh, of course Mitch Mitch,” Scott says. He frowns, even though she can’t see him. “What other Mitch could I _mean_?”

“Well, I don't know,” Mom replies. “You’ve been not-dating Mitch Mitch for more than fifteen years, you know, you _could_ have meant some other Mitch.”

He couldn’t, because there _are_ no other Mitches.

Scott doesn’t say that, though. Sighing, he rubs a hand over his face. So far there hasn't been a single part of this conversation that's gone the way he thought it would. “Mom. No, Mom. I definitely mean Mitch, I'm seeing _Mitch_.”

There's a long pause. Another one. Scott’s never had a conversation with Mom that had this much silence in it.

“Oh, honey.”

“You said that already.”

“Yes, but _honey_ , oh! That's _wonderful_!”

“You sure?” Scott asks, a little mocking, because he can’t not. _Pregnant_ , she’d asked. As if that was ever going to happen. “You don’t wanna know first if I’m blackmailing him into it, or anything? Maybe he’s possessed by a demon?”

“You’re gonna make each other so happy, Scott,” Mom says, ignoring him.

Scott can allow her that, because she’s—not wrong. “He really will, Mom.”

“I should go tell your dad. Can I tell—?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Scott says, laughing now. “Go on, go tell Dad.”

#

Mitch is pretty sure that as far as prospective sons-in-law go in his dad’s book, Scott is damn near perfect. Not that he’s—thought about it, exactly. Well, not _much_ , over the years—he’s not _masochistic_ (not really, not like _that_ ). Just once, or twice, maybe sometimes when he’d been drinking, but never _seriously_ , never like it could—Never until after Alex, when he started to think it would actually—

Well, so, anyway, Mitch had expected his dad to be happy with the news.

He _hadn’t_ expected his dad to actually start _crying_.

Less than a full day into this relationship, and both of the most important men in Mitch’s life have already had emotional breakdowns over it. He’s not sure whether to be worried or flattered.

“Um, dad?” he says. “You can—Should I talk to mom instead?”

There’s something on the other end of the line that sounds a lot like a smothered sniffle.

“Dad?”

“No, it’s okay,” his dad says. There’s a loud noise, his dad clearing his throat. “I’m so happy for you, Mitch.”

“Well. Good,” Mitch says. “So am, so’m I.”

“I know how much this must mean for you. How much _Scott_ means,” his dad says.

“Yeah, it’s—He means a lot, yeah,” Mitch says. It’s not a confession, because his dad already _knows_. His whole family probably knows.

There’s another trying-not-to-be-a-sniffle. “That you’re finally taking this risk with him, it’s—really big and—I’m proud of you. And, and just really _happy_ for you, Mitch,” his dad says.

“Yeah, me too,” Mitch says—or, he tries to, but it comes out kind of muffled. Not in the fun way, either.

Look, okay, so maybe Mitch’s eyes are getting a little watery, too, so what. If everyone else is apparently allowed to cry about this, then he is too.

“This is really good news, Mitch,” his dad adds.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, quietly. “It really is.”

He manages to finish his call with his dad before he actually ends up ruining his makeup, which feels like an accomplishment, after the way his dad reacted. He’s probably going to wind up having to repeat the whole conversation very similarly after his dad talks to his mom, but for now, that’s done with. He’s—done.

Right. Done.

Except.

No, he’s kind of not.

He frowns at his contact list for a minute before finally scrolling all the way up. There’s another call he has to make. There’s one other person who should hear about this from Mitch himself, and not a second or third party, internet fan or otherwise. Somebody Mitch owes it to, to tell personally.

The line rings and rings. Mitch is almost sure it’s going to ring all the way through to voicemail, when the call is picked up. “Hello?”

Mitch takes a deep breath. “Hey, Alex…”

#

Mitch is frowning, when Scott comes back to him, after calling his mom.

“Hey, Mitchy,” he says, wrapping an arm around him as soon as he’s close enough. “You okay?”

“Yeah, babe,” Mitch says. A pause. “I talked to Alex.”

“Oh.” Scott well, he would _like_ to say he knows how that makes him feel, but he doesn’t. And Mitch is still looking unsettled. “You, uh, did?”

Mitch’s eyebrow twitches. “Yeah. He is your ex— _and_ my friend. I thought it’d be, like, polite.”

“How—did that go?”

“Mostly how I thought it would,” Mitch says.

“And how was _that_?” Scott asks.

“Pretty well,” Mitch says. “He, uh. Wasn’t surprised.”

Scott pulls back a little, the better to stare at Mitch. “What? Has everyone we know just been _waiting_ —”

Mitch raises one eyebrow and _looks_ at him.

Scott groans. “ _Seriously_?”

“Don’t dwell, babe, it’s not your best look,” Mitch says, with a little smile, his voice teasing. He lifts a hand to Scott’s face, strokes one cheek with his thumb. “C’mon, let’s go see if Esther got us that car.”

#

The only problem with their brilliant plan for a CVS run is that they get there… and wind up standing around giving each other _eyes_ instead of actually paying attention to the shopping. It wouldn’t be a problem—Mitch makes _fantastic_ eyes, Scott could watch him do it all day—except, well. Scott _does_ actually want to make use of lube and condoms with Mitch, which means they will eventually need to buy some. He can’t seem to make himself tear his eyes away.

“You know, I guess I kinda see Esther’s point,” Mitch says, after a bit. There might, possibly, be just a bit of pink on his cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Babe, we’re _mooning_ ,” Mitch says.

“Oh. Yeah, kinda, I guess. Sorry,” Scott says, and doesn’t bother looking sorry at all. Definitely a faint flush on Mitch’s cheeks. It’s the cutest thing Scott’s ever seen. He kind of wants to lick it. If they weren’t in public he totally would.

He might anyway.

“Okay,” Mitch says, before Scott can decide whether he’s going to risk his tongue on Mitch’s face winding up on the internet today. “ _Okay_. How ‘bout this, you go look at condoms, mommy will grab us lube.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Scott says, and with a nod Mitch turns and leaves Scott to follow him over to the right aisle on his own. And it’s—

Well.

… huh.

Scott hasn’t really done much more than stare at a couple of boxes before Mitch is coming back, package in hand—but of course it didn’t take him long, did it. Mitch has had a favorite lube brand since he was nineteen. He’s even got a preferred _tube size_.

“Well?” Mitch asks, his voice pitched low and his eyebrows up.

Scott fights off a shiver and clears his throat.

The thing is, this shouldn’t be weird. It _wasn’t_ weird, three minutes ago. They’ve looked at boxes of condoms together lots of times and it’s _never_ been weird, but somehow—it’s probably knowing that they’ll be using them _together_ —this time it’s making him all…

His skin feels hot. He wants to shove his hands in his pants pockets at the same time he wants to tug on his shirt and fix his hair, he has the urge to shift on his feet, to resettle his jacket. It’s like being live on national television for the first time all over again, like the first date he ever went on in public.

Mitch takes a good, long look at him. Scott can barely stand to meet his eyes.

He’s fifteen and an idiot—over somebody who’s _worth it_ , this time. He’s twenty-five and surer of himself than he should be. He’s thirty-five, he’s fifty, he’s ninety-five. He’s looking at the rest of his life and it’s _condoms_ that brought it home to him. He’s a fucking moron.

“Hey,” Mitch says, hand on Scott’s arm, the slightest pressure.

“Hey,” Scott replies. It croaks a little on the way out.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, with a nod and a smile he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “I’m good. Really good.”

Mitch tilts his head toward the condom boxes. “You gonna—?”

Scott considers a second. He shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “You get whatever.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I know you’ve probably already got one in mind.”

There’s nothing special about Scott knowing that, or even saying it, but it still makes Mitch smile back at him, soft at the edges. Sweet, but saucy, too.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Mitch says, and turns away to grab whatever.

Scott watches him, hands curled to fists in his jacket pocket. Now would be a really bad time to grab Mitch and never let go. Very bad.

By the time they leave the store, Scott hasn’t gotten any Google alerts about Mitch and condoms, so he’s pretty sure they weren’t spotted. He’s gonna count it a success, anyway.

Plus, _they have condoms_.

He’s gonna get to _fuck Mitch_.

Holy shit.

Scott has to swallow thickly a few times. He can’t look at Mitch on the drive back.

#

They’re back with the others, and Scott won’t look at him. It’s not like last week when Scott was avoiding him, though—Scott’s ears are all pink and the little crinkles around his eyes are soft and _warm_. Mitch sees those crinkles, and can’t help imagining waking up in bed next to that look forty years from now.

He kind of understands the not-looking, really.

Mitch pulls his phone out, instead. There’s always something new happening with the fans on Instagram. _Especially_ since Scott snapped a picture of them in the hotel lobby this morning.

That one in particular has a ton of comments already.

 **ptxstolemyheart**  
i love your vids!! you guys are THE CUTEST COUPLE okay, never stop.  <333

 **mitchiemitchieg**  
OMG r u new, their not 2gether

 **pentaobsessed12**  
yeha what @mitchiemitchieg said, they are just freinds

 **ptxstolemyheart**  
are you sure

 **ptxstolemyheart**  
coz it don’t look like it from here, honey.

 **pentaobsessed12**  
wow you really ARE new

 **mitchismyeverything**  
It makes me sad how people project a romance on platonic friends like these boys. They’re not here to fullfil your fantasies. Leave them alone!!

 **luvscruffyscott**  
...yeah @mitchismyeverything because they can’t be a cute couple...of FRIENDS, right. calm yo’self.

 **mitchismyeverything**  
The only reason to use the word “couple” is to implie a romance. That isn’t there!! Just call them friends if thats what you mean.

 **ptxstolemyheart**  
nah i still think they’re a couple. sorry.

 **scotthoyingismydad**  
but we can all agree they’re cute, right.

 **luvscruffyscott**  
o yeah super cute

 **scomicheisveryreal**  
the cutest!!

 **ptxstolemyheart**  
DEFINITELY cute. so so cute.

 **luvscruffyscott**  
specially scott.

Mitch chokes on a laugh.

“What?” Scott says instantly. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just. I'm on Instagram,” Mitch explains, wiggling his phone this way and that to illustrate.

“What's happening?” Scott asks, coming over.

“Comment fight,” Mitch says, still scrolling through them. “Someone’s under attack for saying we make a cute couple.”

“We _do_ make a cute couple,” Scott remarks, leaning over Mitch’s shoulder to see. Mitch tilts it so he has a better angle.

“That isn’t new,” Kevin hollers over at them.

“Shut up,” Mitch hollers back. “We’re _super cute_.”

“Mitchy, tell the truth, are you secretly @luvscruffyscott,” Scott says, right in his ear.

Mitch slaps his knee. “You’re so stupid.”

"No, no, really. I _knew_ you were telling me to shave because you couldn’t resist me with the scruff.”

“What is this,” Mitch teases. “You think ‘cause I’m in love with you, you can say just anything?”

Scott freezes. Mitch raises his eyebrows.

“Babe?”

“You said—” Scott starts.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t, you _hadn’t_ ,” Scott says. Those tiny lines around his eyes are all folded up, his ear-blush from earlier has spread over his face, his eyes are huge and damp, and he’s _smiling_. Ho boy, is he ever smiling.

“What?” Mitch asks, thinking back over his words and trying to figure out what would make Scott—Oh.

 _Oh_.

“Oh,” Mitch says. “I—Right.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees.

“ _So_ , I think I’m gonna go be not here, now,” somebody says, loudly, from the other side of the room. “You guys coming?”

“Definitely,” someone else says, and, “Yeah, me too.”

“You should say it again,” Scott says, like he didn’t even hear them. (Mitch heard, but he doesn’t care. They can go away, for all he cares.)

Oh, Mitch is going to say it again. Scott’s going to lose count, he’s gonna say it again so many times. He’s half afraid if he opens his mouth right now, that’s the only thing that’ll come out.

Except.

Scott _didn’t_ either, Scott _hadn’t_ either. Not exactly, not properly.

“You first,” Mitch orders.

Scott’s eyebrow twitches. He doesn’t stop smiling. “Yeah?”

Really, seriously the only thing that would come out. Mitch nods, instead.

“I love you, am _in love_ with you,” Scott says, and oh, it comes out smooth, like it’s easy. Like he didn’t spend a week trying to run from it, like it wasn’t _news_ to him. How does he _do_ that? Mitch hates him and his stupid voice. “Not platonically.”

“I love you so fucking much, it makes me angry,” Mitch snaps.

Scott laughs. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Bring your stupid face over here where I can kiss it, already.”

#

They _kill it_ at their show. They’re never bad, but Scott feels like they’re even better than normal, and Mitch _slays_.

Scott should have worn looser pants. And a longer shirt.

“You were so good tonight,” he says, hustling Mitch back to the bus. “Incredible, babe.”

Mitch leans into Scott’s hand on his back and tips his head to smile up at him. “You, too.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Scott says. He looks away from Mitch so he can keep walking. He wouldn’t be going _anywhere_ if he keeps looking at that smile.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I wanna be the first back to the bus.”

“Really, why’s that?”

“Bunks,” Scott says, risking a glance.

Mitch’s eyes half-close, and his smile widens. “That’s a _good_ idea.”

Scott has to swallow and look away again.

#

“What do you think you’re doing?” Esther asks, glaring at them from the gap in the curtain.

“Um,” Mitch says. Apparently, the bunks were _not_ that good an idea. They didn’t even get to do any serious kissing yet!

Esther gives them an unimpressed look. “Do you mind?” she asks.  
 “Do _you_ mind?” Scott shoots back.

“Yes, actually, I do,” Esther says. “And I’m not the only one.”

“What is _that_ supposed to me—”

“It means you’re not the only people on this bus!” comes Avi’s shout, from the direction of the lounge area.

“And it’s a little bus,” Kevin says, and, _oh_ , he’s apparently in his bunk, too.

“Look, we’re not trying to—scar anybody,” Mitch says. “We can be quiet!”

“We’ll even keep the curtain open,” Scott adds, earnest.

“Oh _please_ , like that’s a guarantee,” Kevin mutters.

“Yeah, with miss exhibitionist in there? I don't think so,” says _somebody_ , not far away but barely audible.

“I _heard that_ , Kirstin,” Mitch says, raising his voice.

“Good!”

“Just get out of the bunk, guys,” Esther says, in her best playground mediator voice.

“This is _so_ not fair,” Scott whines.

“You’re not teenagers and I’m not your mother,” she says. She points down the short hallway, back toward the front of the bus. “Out.”

Pouting, Mitch slides out from under Scott’s arm and off the bunk. Scott follows, and under Esther’s stern scowl they troop out to sit in the lounge. Scott hesitates, eyeing a couch, but Mitch pushes him into the only single armchair, and plops on his lap. He tips his chin up and checks to see if anyone’s going to object.

Esther rolls her eyes, but doesn’t say anything. She takes a couch.

Avi’s already there, just turning on a movie, and Kirstie comes out of the bathroom a minute later and joins Esther on her end of the couch.

Mitch is—not actually sure what the movie is, and to be honest, he doesn’t really care, either. He twists around so he can tuck his face in Scott’s hair, smelling of sweat and product and half falling down from his style. Scott tips his head, so they fit better, and Mitch can’t resist dropping a kiss, right where the buzzed side fades to the longer crown.

Scott makes a happy little humming noise, and his nose nuzzles Mitch’s cheek, his jaw. Mitch kisses his head again, gentle, and lets his mouth linger.

And then Scott’s mouth is on his neck, warm and slick and _kissing_ , and Mitch is… making noises. The first one gets out, a high gasp, and he tries to hold the next one in. It gets trapped in his throat as a groan instead, and the next moment Scott’s _tongue_ flicks out.

Oh, _yeah_ , that’s—

“Oh, my god, seriously, guys,” Kirstie groans, her face screwed up. She's obviously starting to get uncomfortable being on the end of the couch nearest them, but she's not budging an inch. Neither is Esther. “Nobody wants to listen to that. _Nobody_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott says, shifty. He keeps his face tucked into Mitch’s neck.

“We really can be quiet,” Mitch hurries to put in. He—really doesn’t want Scott to stop.

“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Avi says, from over on the other end of the couch.

“Look, we’re not gonna _neck_ ,” Mitch says, starting to feel desperate. They aren’t gonna make him get off Scott’s lap, they _aren’t_. Not even if they do make him turn to face the movie instead. “Not _seriously_.”

“Yeah, just—hang out on first base for a bit,” Scott adds.

“You are so completely full of shit,” Kirstie says.

“What!” says Scott, and now he does pull away from Mitch’s neck. He’s trying to look innocent, but his lips are too red and his eyes are all dark and it’s not working. “We wouldn’t!”

Kirstie’s eyebrows disappear under her bangs and she smirks. “You absolutely would.”

“Now that’s just hurtful,” Mitch accuses.

“Yeah, girl. I thought you supported this,” Scott says, giving her a wounded look. “What about your whole, ‘imagine if you and Mitch—’”

“This is _not_ that,” Kirstie says. “Also, shut up.”

“No, hang on, what _about_ your imagine if whatever, Kirstie?” Mitch asks.

“Your boy needed an eye-opener,” Kirstie replies. “So I maybe employed—creative thinking.”

“Yeah, she said he wasn’t getting it, the other way,” Esther puts in.

Avi looks around at all of them, between Scott scowling and Kirstie and Esther nodding at each other. “What ‘other way’?” he asks, slowly, like maybe he doesn’t really want to know but has to check, anyway.

“Badgering,” Scott says, and it’s not a pout because he says—actually, no, it’s totally a pout.

“ _Logic_ ,” Kirstie says.

“Right,” says Avi. “And this has… what, exactly, to do with them making out in front of us?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Esther says.

“Kind of a lot,” Scott corrects, with a narrow look at both her and Kirstie, “since you _won’t let us_.”

“I can support you getting your shit together, and still not want to watch you putting on a live softcore show,” Kirstie says.

“We’re _not_ doing—”

“ _Please_ ,” says Avi. He looks kinda pained.

“Okay, okay, we’re behaving,” Scott grumbles. He adjusts his grip on Mitch, shifts him around on his thighs so their heads aren’t—quite as close to each other. As though _that’s_ gonna reduce temptation, or something.

Mitch doesn’t say anything. He’s busy not sticking his tongue out at all their mean friends.

#

The movie is _boring_. At least Scott has a lapful of his favorite person, or he’d probably have gotten up by now and gone to—sleep, or something, take a page out of Kevin’s book.

“You know what we _could_ do?” Mitch asks, pensively, about twenty minutes after they got yelled at for being affectionate.

“Mm?”

“Film and edit tomorrow’s Superfruit video.” He looks at Scott out of the corner of his eye. “So that we won’t have to worry about it tomorrow. At the hotel. During our day off.”

Scott’s mind flashes to that _tomorrow_ —him and Mitch, a bed in a room to themselves, naked and _touching_ —and his eyes probably go a bit blank. His _mind_ goes a bit blank. What are words.

“Yes,” he manages to croak, after a minute. “We could, uh. Do that.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” says Mitch. “C’mon.”

He stands up, and Scott’s hands automatically go to his lap to hide a problem that he only _almost_ has.

Mitch pauses, a couple of steps away. “Scott?”

One look at the couch full of Avi and the girls, and Scott’s good to go. He drops his hands.

“Coming,” he says, and follows Mitch out of the lounge. If any of the others say anything, he’s not listening for it.

#

“Hello, and welcome to Superfruit, the BEST show on the Internet!” Scott says, loud and bright, with a single wave. “My name is Mitch Grassi’s boyfriend!”

Mitch, his mouth open to chime in with his own introduction, pauses. His face melts into a gooey looking smile. He dips his head, looks up at Scott through his lashes. “Yeah?” he asks, all soft. “Really?”

“I thought—Yes?” Scott hesitates, tiny line appearing between his eyebrows. “Are we no—”

“No, no yes, we _are_ , I just… hadn’t thought of it in that term,” Mitch says, quickly, and smiles even as the wrinkle in Scott’s brow smooths out. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” He waits for Mitch’s nod, then says, “Good, so do I.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They sit and beam at each other.

“We can’t use this, you know,” Mitch says, after a bit.

“I know,” Scott says, smiling like an idiot, with laughter in his voice. “I know, crap. Okay. Try again?”

#

“Hey! Welcome to Superfruit, the best show on the internet!” Scott says, beaming at the camera with half the sun in his smile. “My name is Roadkill.”

Mitch turns away from looking at Scott to smile at the camera, too, stars in his eyes. “And I’m Naked Trucker.”

“And together we are things that we really wish we hadn’t seen today.”

“And this week’s video is all ways you can pass time on a tour bus,” Mitch says, gesturing with hands up and open, the left one grazing Scott’s shoulder.

“Because it can be super boring and we spend a _lot_ of time on them,” Scott says, smile a little brighter than a second ago.

“ _A lot_ a lot,” adds Mitch.

“We’re actually on a tour bus _right now_!”

“In case you couldn’t tell.”

“But let’s be real,” Scott concludes, waving around behind himself and Mitch, then leaving his arm behind Mitch’s back, “you probably could.”

#

One:

“Count cows.”

#

Five:

“Paint your toenails,” says Scott.

#

Six:

“Play the license plate game,” says Mitch.

“I once got up to forty states,” Scott says. “Including Hawaii!”

“Hawaii, wow,” Mitch says, impressed.

#

Seven:

“Read a book. Or a whole series.”

#

Ten:

“Try to play solitaire.”

“With real, actual cards!”

#

Eleven:

“Play fifty-two card pick-up.”

#

Fourteen:

“Braid Avi’s chest hair!”

Mitch’s nose wrinkles. “Uh, no.”

#

Eighteen:

“Practice meditative breathing.”

#

Twenty-five:

“Make out with a bandmate on the bunks,”

“Kevin’s usually not down,” Scott adds.

“And the girls are spoilsports.”

#

Thirty-one:

“Paint someone else’s toenails,” says Mitch. “While they’re _sleeping_.”

#

Thirty-two:

“Take a nap,” says Scott. His grin gets a little wider. “Get your toenails painted.”

“That’s thirty-three,” says Mitch.

#

Forty:

“Learn how to sing the Japanese version of Let It Go.”

#

Forty-Three:

“See how many times you can get the bus driver to pull over for food breaks.”

“Esther doesn’t like this one, she says it makes us late,” Scott adds.

#

Fifty:

“Play MarioKart with your toes.”

#

Fifty-four:

“Push-ups. Ew.”

#

Sixty-one:

“Compose a radical political manifesto.”

#

Sixty-nine:

“Sixty nine.”

#

Seventy-five:

“Film a video for your YouTube channel.”

#

“You must be joking,” Scott says, staring. It _sounded_ like their friends just told them that they can’t share a bunk—for _sleeping_ , even—tonight, but that’s gotta be wrong. Right?

“Wait,” Mitch says at the same moment, “how is _that_ fair?”

“Well, A, there's no way you'd both fit,” Kirstie says, in what's probably supposed to come off as a reasonable tone but just sounds stern. And _mean_.

“I think that's for us to find out, really,” Mitch complains.

“Oh, c’mon,” says Kevin, who’s still in his bunk and talking through the curtain. He could be doing _anything_ in there, but nobody’s saying anything to _him_. “Scott barely fits on his _own_.”

“And I dunno what people on the Internet have been telling you, Mitchell, but you're not exactly a _small_ man, either.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Scott protests, indignant.

“And B, none of us want you waking everyone up when you injure yourselves trying to have sex.”

“We _wouldn’t_ ,” Mitch says, and, over whatever Avi’s grumbling in reply, “So _fine_ , then. We’ll sleep in separate bunks. I hope you’re happy.”

“Ecstatic.”

#

**mitchy**  
_my bunk is cold_

**scott**  
_mine 2_

**mitchy**  
_i miss u_

**scott**  
_miss u more_  
_our friends are mean_

**mitchy**  
_wish i was in w/ u_

**scott**  
_wish i was in u_

**mitchy**  
_well yeah in a PERFECT world_

Scott smiles at his phone and starts to tap out another reply, when—

“Are you planning on actually sleeping tonight?” Kirstie asks, gruffly. “Because if not, could you at least turn the damn vibration on your phone off so the rest of us can?”

A second later, _her_ phone vibrates. A second after that, Kirstie yelps.

“I will _tell your mother_ you said that, Mitchell,” she hisses across the aisle.

“What, it's not enough we have to listen to _your_ phones go off?” Avi’s voice rumbles from the bunk under Scott’s. “Now you're going to set off _hers_ , as well?”

Something chimes in Avi’s bunk. A pause.

“Now that's just uncalled for,” says Avi, sounding wounded.

“ _All_ of you, _please_ ,” Kevin moans. His voice is groggy and muffled, like he’s half asleep with a pillow over his head.

“Okay, okay,” Scott says. “We’re stopping, all right?”

“You better,” Kirstie mumbles.

There's silence for a whole minute and a half.

Scott’s phone goes off once more.

**mitchy**  
_still wish i was in with u babe_

#

“Okay,” Scott says, the moment everybody has their hotel keys in their hand the next day. “So, the past twenty-six hours have been great—”

“Really, we love being cockblocked,” Mitch says under his breath.

“—but we’re going now, we’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Don’t try to talk to us unless the hotel is burning down,” Mitch adds. He pauses. “Maybe not even then, I’m sure we’ll work it out.”

“Don’t even come knock on our door,” Scott concludes. “We’re not responsible for what your poor ears hear if you get too close.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Kirstie says, laughter in her voice.

“Not that we _needed_ one,” Avi mutters, passing them. It looks like Esther elbows his side.

“Bye,” Mitch says, again, and looks at Scott pointedly until he drags them off.

He manages to wait until they step into their hotel room (singular, which is just like the old days before they all started having their own rooms and everyone had to share, and not at all like that because there’s only one bed and it’s much much nicer) but that’s as long as he lasts before he reaches for Mitch, who closes the door by pushing Scott up against it and kissing him stupid. He puts up with them staying like that for a couple minutes, ‘cause it’s nice enough, but eventually he has to turn them around so _he_ can press _Mitch_ against the door because that is _nicer_ , mm, yes.

Mitch tucked up all safe between Scott and a wall, all Scott’s, all his attention focused where it should be? Yeah, Scott has no complaints. He groans, fits his hands to Mitch’s hips and leans his weight on them.

Scott lets himself get lost in their kisses. He wants more, he wants _everything_ —but they’ve got time. They have all the time in the world.

Mitch must agree, because he doesn’t even try to move from where Scott has him still pressed back to the probably-fake-wood door. He just leans and clings to Scott, makes a noise into the kiss every so often, a noise like he made on the bus. He doesn't seem to want to let Scott get enough space between them to undress him—but after one too many of those little kitten sounds he's yanking at Mitch’s shirt anyway.

“Don’t want you to rip this shirt either,” Mitch mumbles around Scott’s tongue.

Scott pulls his head back—he doesn’t _want_ to, but it’s for a good cause. “Then,” he snaps, “ _take it off_.”

#

“Oh,” says Mitch, making himself bring up his hands and push Scott even farther back. It puts his hands on Scott’s shoulders, which is the _only_ reason it’s acceptable. “I’ll take it off.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, toes out of his shoes, pushes down his pants, all in the time it takes Scott to lose his shoes and his top.

“God,” Scott says, watching him with extremely gratifying intensity, still holding the shirt he just pulled off, like he forgot to let go of it. “You should always be naked. Can I burn your clothes?”

“I would actually kill you,” Mitch says.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I _would_ ,” Mitch insists. He throws his sock at Scott’s face, but misses. Scott keeps pouting. “I’d cry at your funeral, though?”

“ _I’m_ gonna cry, if you don’t get over here,” Scott retorts. He holds out his arms, like he’s making grabby hands.

Mitch can’t resist.

He reaches out and _pushes_.

One good shove puts Scott flat on his back on the bed, shirt dropped carelessly on the floor. He bounces once, half-laughing—but it cuts off on a choking gasp when Mitch dumps the CVS bag on the bed next to Scott, takes a knee on the bed next to him, and _goes straight for his pants_.

He helped pick out these pants but he’s decided he hates them. He’s had to watch Scott wearing them around with his legs looking like they go on forever, got to sit on Scott’s lap but not touch him. He been in Scott’s pants now, he wants back in—more than that, he wants _on_ what’s in these pants, damn it.

Two tugs and a yank, and there go the pants, _yes_. Mitch drags them down over Scott’s hips and doesn’t waste any time climbing on top of him, while Scott is still squirming the rest of the way free of the legs.

“Hi,” Scott says, a little breathless, as he kicks the pants off the side of the bed. He reaches for Mitch’s hips, hesitates, then seems to decide to settle those huge, warm palms on Mitch’s thighs. He hitches Mitch’s knees in tight against his sides.

Mitch gives a shiver that starts in his spine. Scott’s eyes crinkle, warmer than his hands, and no, can’t handle looking at that.

“Talk about always being naked,” Mitch says, looking down instead, and rubbing his palms over those _fucking_ shoulders. “It’s practically illegal for you to cover these up.”

“They’re shoulders,” Scott says, dismissive, back to half-laughing.

“I _know_ ,” Mitch grumbles. He leans over and puts his mouth on the right one, the little swell of just above the wing of his collarbone. He wants to be touching these shoulders with every part of himself, all the time. He wants to cover them in purple kisses and tooth marks, wants to write his name on them in _ink_ —but Scott hates needles so his nails will have to do.

Scott whines, low and soft. “ _Mitch_.”

“I mean it, they’re fantastic. They deserve to be admired,” Mitch says, a hair too fast, but hopefully Scott won’t notice. “In _fact_.” He sits back on his heels a little.

“In fact, _what_?” Scott asks.

“I wanna look at you for a sec.”

“You _are_ looking at me.”

“Yeah, but, no. You should touch yourself,” Mitch says.

“Yeah?” Scott’s eyebrows go up. “What are you gonna be doing?”

“I wanna _watch_.”

“I—oh,” says Scott, cheeks going a little darker. He was already flushed, but, god, is this a look that works on him. Mitch wasn’t even lying; he _does_ just wanna watch.

“Like this,” Mitch says, biting his lip. He has to pull away from Scott’s hands to shimmy backwards down the bed, but it’s a little easier to breathe from down here and that’s mostly worth it. He slides off all the way, once he’s by Scott’s shins, settles on his knees and heels, not touching but close enough he can practically feel Scott’s body heat. “Okay?

“Yeah,” Scott says, his voice way lighter than Mitch’s chest feels. “If you say so.”

“Go on, then,” Mitch orders. “Touch yourself.”

And Scott, wonderful obedient human that he is, Scott only rolls his eyes a little, lies there on the bed, drags a hand down his chest, all showy. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but his hand hits his abs and his lips part. His hips twitch up off the bed a fraction, his dick jerks—then his fingers are there, wrapping around it, his knees falling apart, legs spreading, and fuck, he doesn’t look like laughing, he looks like _sex_.

“Yeah,” Mitch breathes, from where he’s kneeling on the very end of the bed, digs his own fingers into his thighs so he doesn’t reach for his dick. He thinks he could probably come like that—they’re _so_ going to, someday—but not today. He has _plans_ for today.

“ _C’mon_ ,” he says, now. “You gonna jack off or what?”

“I’m, uh, yeah,” Scott says, indistinct, dragging his hand up the shaft to the head. He pauses, uncurls his hand a little so he can rub his palm flat across the tip a few times. “Oh, _yeah_ ,” he says, and  slides his hand back down, smoother than the drag up. He looks like it feels better, too, his eyes fluttering a little.

Scott doesn’t have small hands, he’s got dinner _plates_ with _fingers_ , but in those hands his dick somehow still looks substantial. Long, like the rest of him, thick, shiny at the tip—and as Mitch watches, Scott gives his hand a little twist around the root, and his abs flex so Mitch can _see_. To make it worse, Scott _groans_.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mitch announces, breathless. He grabs Scott’s wrist, pulls his hand away, as he crawls up the bed.

“Oh, yeah? You decided you want something else?” Scott asks. He’s probably trying to tease, but it’s not working. He’s too flushed, breathing too fast.

“Yeah. This is the part where you fuck me with your fingers,” Mitch says.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, _yes_ , okay,” Scott says, and yanks his wrist out of Mitch’s grasp to put his hand on Mitch’s ass as Mitch swings a leg back over his hips to straddle him again.

Mitch arches into it and reaches for the lube.

#

Scott fills his hand with Mitch’s ass, squeezes a couple times to feel the wiry meat of it—god, it’s a hot little ass—puts his other hand on Mitch’s head to pull him into some deep, messy kisses, and maybe gets distracted a little. Mitch lets him, but fumbles the lube open between them, drags Scott’s hand out of his hair.

“Seriously,” he says, pouring lube over Scott’s fingers, not seeming to care that it drips a little over Scott’s stomach and his own thighs. Scott shudders a little at the cold shock of it, but he doesn’t really care, either, especially not when Mitch finishes, “Get these back _in me_.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Scott replies, and pulls Mitch’s hips closer, their cocks dragging together with a sweet tingle of friction, as he wraps his other arm around Mitch’s waist to drag his lube-slick fingers down the crack of Mitch’s ass.

“Apparently I do—oooh,” Mitch sighs, as Scott sinks his middle finger in, right to the second knuckle on the first slide. If Mitch is gonna be pushy—

“Yes,” Mitch says, dropping his head back so his neck is bared in a long, elegant line _begging_ for Scott’s tongue, “yes, _good_.”

“Not too much?” Scott asks. He’s got a pretty good feeling that he knows what Mitch can take, but he’d rather be _sure_. “Too fast?”

“It’s perfect, shut up and fuck me,” Mitch whines without looking, and tries to rock his hips on Scott’s hand. It only works a little, and he whines again.

Scott shuts up, starts rolling his wrist in a smooth, slow rhythm that gets the whole length of his finger into Mitch without making him work too hard for it. He adds a second finger, when Mitch’s breathing picks up a little and he seems loose enough, watches him roll his hips and pant. There’s sweat starting on Mitch’s temples, the sides of his neck.

He’s _delicious_.

Scott licks his lips. He could, probably he could get in a third—

“Okay, okay, enough, _out_ ,” Mitch says, grabbing for the condoms.

“Don’t you want to—”

“No,” Mitch says, adorable little scowl on his face. He rips the box opening it, dumps everything but one packet back on the bed. He gets that open, too, wraps his hand around Scott’s dick, and—

“Uhhh oh-kay,” Scott gasps, Mitch rolling the condom down, the first time he’s touched him properly this evening. It’s—not a surprise, but _sudden_ and _good_ and—

Not enough to prepare him.

Mitch doesn’t even give Scott time to catch his breath, he just sinks down fast, one long, smooth slide. It's _glorious_. The heat, the pressure, the awareness that it’s _Mitch_.

Scott clutches Mitch’s knees and tries to hang on, can’t do anything else. He watches Mitch ride him—oh god _Mitch is riding him_ —the rise and fall of his torso, the tense and release of his thighs as he rocks, the shudder of his chest with every uneven breath—Scott feels like he _can’t_ do anything else. It’s—overwhelming.

Mitch glides his hands up from over Scott’s on his own hips, over his stomach, to his chest. Where he—

Slender fingers, rubbing at his nipples. Pinching one. Dragging a nail over the other, a high, needy sound out of Mitch, who is _playing with his own nipples_.

Fuck, it’s too much. After that, Scott lasts maybe a dozen strokes.

“Shit,” he says, which isn’t anything like a warning, and hunches up to try to kiss Mitch as he comes.

“Oh, you _ass_ ,” Mitch says, into it, because he’s not an idiot, obviously he knows what just happened, and starts moving faster.

Scott holds Mitch’s hips down on him, wraps his hand around Mitch’s dick and pulls him off fast and frantic, before Scott really has time to soften all the way and slip out.

Mitch bites his chin when he comes, just leans over and gets his teeth in it like it was the first thing he could reach, dumb and hot and making a mess all over Scott’s hand. Scott wants to come again himself, wants to bite Mitch back, wants to kiss him and kiss him and—

After, Mitch flops next to Scott, limp and panting, on the bed. Scott lets himself float, warm and happy.

“We should eat,” Mitch says, after a while, his mouth against Scott’s shoulder.

“Mm, refuel,” Scott agrees, nodding. He turns his head and drops a kiss on Mitch’s hair—stupid that it’s barely sex hair and it thrills Scott anyway—because he fucking can. He’s allowed. That’ll never not be a rush. “Good idea.”

“Oh, good.” Mitch pats Scott’s chest, right over his heart. Then he’s sitting up. “You call room service, I’m gonna grab a quick shower.”

“‘Kay. But I'm totally ordering one of _everything_ ,” says Scott.

Mitch laughs. “Please don't. I want at least two plates of fries,” he says, climbing naked off the bed.

“Well, ordering a lot, anyway.” Scott pauses to give Mitch his best leer, complete with eyebrow waggle and bitten lip. “You’re gonna need your _energy_.”

“That’s terrible and I’m gonna go shower.”

“So much energy!”

“Don’t forget my fries!” Mitch yells, punctuated by the faucet in the shower kicking on.

He doesn’t bother closing the door.

#

The shower cuts off not five minutes later, though the water doesn’t stop. A moment later, Mitch emerges in one of the hotel robes, his makeup gone, face bare and flushed across the cheekbones with heat. His hair is still dripping, slicked back from his face.

“So, I had a thought,” he announces.

There is water running down his calves, where they show under the edge of the robe.

“Oh?” Scott asks, eyes on a particular drop working its way around to Mitch’s shin from the back of his knee. “And this thought was—?”

“Showers are boring,” Mitch says.

“You have a better idea?”

Mitch comes over and laces his fingers with Scott’s. “There’s a nice big tub in there.”

That sounds _very_ promising. Scott can’t stop the grin spreading over his face. “Oh yeah?”

“I think probably we’d even both fit.”

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” Scott says. He goes for the leer again, but Mitch puts his free hand over his face before he can really get it going.

#

“That was delicious,” Mitch says, putting the half-empty plate of fries back on the wheeled room service cart and pushing it a little away from the bed.

On the other side of the bed, naked because he never bothered putting _anything_ on after their bath, not even a robe, Scott waggles his eyebrows. “All refueled?”

“Mm yes, not that it matters.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Oh, no, it’s _your_ turn,” Mitch says, settling back against the pillows and spreading his arms. The robe gapes open across his bare chest, lines of ink peeking out. “This girl’s been doing all the heavy lifting around here.”

Scott licks his lips. He’s staring. “You think so, huh.”

“Mmhm. Go on, show me what _you’ve_ got. Take care of me, big boy.”

“Well then,” Scott says, slow and careful, like he’s letting that sink in. Mitch can practically see the shift, in the lines of his face. “If I’m in charge,” he continues, and grabs the sides of Mitch’s robe and just pulls it open, without untying it. Mitch is naked, just like that; he sucks in a deep breath that burns going down, the muscles in his stomach tremble.

Scott’s adam’s apple bobs, he licks his lips again, fuck. Then he leans down and licks _Mitch’s_ lips, pushes in for quick, deep, sloppy kiss. Mitch only gets to kiss back for a second, and then Scott is moving, sliding down and licking Mitch’s collarbone. Biting it, a little, faint scrape of teeth over the bone.

Mitch gets his hands in Scott’s hair, fingers of one tangled in the long bit and the other rubbing restlessly back and forth over the buzzed part—this same distracting style that Scott’s had his damn hair in for _years_ , luring Mitch in with its soft little bristles that rasp and tickle all perfect when he touches it, god, he used to have _so much_ trouble keeping his hands off it. Now it’s all his, and he _can’t_ stop.

Scott doesn’t stop himself, keeps moving, kissing all over Mitch’s skin like every bit is the same, is precious. He only pauses to suck a hickey over Mitch’s heart, which is—it’s fine, it’s _great_ , Mitch is so okay with that. Like, why the fuck not; the stupid thing is Scott’s anyway.

Scott even licks at Mitch’s belly button, and it should tickle, should be ridiculous. Mitch watches Scott’s tongue circling, dipping in and it’s—not ridiculous. Fuck.

When he gets to the thin skin over Mitch’s hipbones, Scott bites again. Not light, this time. Bites like he means _business_ , digs his teeth in, sucks at it. Doesn’t let up until he’s worked in a solid bruise, blooming up red and dark already.

He shifts a little at the end, while he’s scraping his teeth—probably to make sure it stays, the possessive fucker—and he must have forgotten he was teasing because his jaw brushes Mitch’s dick. It’s not like Scott could have _missed_ it, Mitch’s erection has been enthusiastically begging for attention since Scott started _licking_ him, jesus.

Maybe Scott doesn’t care now, though, because he loosens his teeth and lets up with mouth. He tilts his head some more, and his cheek bumps the wet, flushed tip of Mitch’s dick. It leaves a little wet smear, shiny spot in the glint of all his blond stubble that Mitch put there with his _cock_. And Scott is _grinning_.

Mitch is still trying to catch his breath from that whole— _that_ , hickey and everything, when Scott finally gets his lips around Mitch’s dick and takes him in like it’s not totally mindblowing— _all_ the way in, right down to the root.

“You had to be go— _good_ at that,” Mitch complains, not meaning it for a _second_. Scott can be good at this all day and twice on Sunday.

Scott pulls off and has the fucking nerve to _smirk_ at him. “Not all I’m good at.”

Mitch’s thunks his head back on the bed. “Fuck you, oh my god.”

Scott stretches an arm up, gropes at the bed near Mitch’s shoulder. He pulls his mouth away again, doesn’t really lift his head, and says, breath blowing hot and cold at once over Mitch’s spit-slick skin, “Pass me a pillow.”

“What, why—oh, oh,” Mitch says, getting it and scrambling to shove one down at him. “Yes, okay. Yes.”

Scott grabs the pillow, lifts Mitch’s hips with his other hand—it doesn’t matter that Mitch is digging his heels into the mattress to help, because Scott lifts him with _one hand_ , shit—and works the pillow under him. He traces the ridged line between Mitch’s balls with the tip of his tongue.

He doesn’t stop, working his tongue over Mitch’s perineum. He _doesn’t stop_.

Mitch just had a bath, obviously Scott knows that, he was there too, but they didn’t—they weren’t what could be called _thorough_ , soaping each other off. More interested in trading kisses and running their hands all over, as much as they could touch all at once. Mitch might taste like skin, down there, but he probably still smells musky and—Scott fucked him less than two hours ago, even aside from anything else, there’s gotta be traces of lube and latex and _sex_ , Mitch feels filthy just thinking about it.

Scott doesn’t seem to care. There’s no hesitation.

He licks over Mitch’s hole, one broad sweep with the flat of his tongue, another. Then he pulls back, just enough to trace around the edges with the very tip of his tongue. The flat, the tip, one then the other again and again, so that Mitch barely notices the first time Scott thrusts a little. He curses, starts to squirm. Scott holds him still with both hands and doesn’t stop moving his tongue.

“Oh, oh _god_.”

Scott keeps working his tongue in, persistent until Mitch loosens up for it. It’s—fuck, he’s been rimmed before, okay, he already knows he likes it, but—seriously, fuck. It’s the teasing version of sensory overload; the combination of agile tongue working around his rim and the occasional scrape of stubble on the tender skin near it, the flex of Scott’s fingers on his thigh and Scott’s nose bumping his balls; not enough to bring him off but winding him up higher and higher.

Mitch throws a leg over Scott’s shoulder, bites the heel of his hand so that he doesn’t wake up people three floors away.

Scott shifts his grip, hitches Mitch’s leg a little higher over him. Grabs the other leg and urges it up, too. His nails bite into the skin of Mitch’s thigh.

Mitch has to let go with his teeth or risk tasting blood. A moan spills out right away. Scott pauses, tilts his head to scrape his stubble on Mitch’s thigh. It rasps and burns, shoots warmth all down Mitch’s leg and back up. His dick jerks against his stomach, his balls feel tight.

He can feel Scott smiling against him. He starts back in with his tongue.

“Oh godddd,” Mitch gasps, and he hooks his knees, fits them to Scott’s shoulders and crosses his ankles over Scott’s shoulder blades. Tangles his fingers in the sheets and tries to hold on.

Because, see. A revelation, expected but still _amazing_ : Scott is really good with his tongue.

Like, _really_ good. Fuck.

“Fuck, fuck,” Mitch says, more like a wet gasp, reaching down and trying to smack Scott’s shoulder around his own leg. “Scott, Scotty, you gotta stop.”

Scott does, god, of _course_ he does, lifts his head. “Babe?”

“I want to come on your _dick_ again, you asshole.”

“Well, you can do that, too,” Scott points out.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Mitch goes to smack him again, has better luck this time. His palm stings, tingles with it—a thought for another time. “Get up here already.”

Scott reaches up and unhooks Mitch’s ankles, pulls his legs down so he can sit up, back on his heels. “What’re you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Mitch tells him, very serious and not at all high _or_ desperate, “shove me face first into a pillow and make me _feel it_.”

Scott’s eyes cross, a little, for just a second.

“Um,” he says, “Yeah, ‘kay.”

Mitch rolls over before Scott can get distracted again, but Scott can’t seem to stop touching him, palms dragging across Mitch’s ribs. One big hand winds up splayed between Mitch’s shoulders, holding him down, and yes, that, it’s exactly what Mitch likes.

“Are you—”

“If you ask me _one more time_ ,” Mitch snarls, into the pillow and his arms, the back of his neck and the corners of his eyes prickling; _why_ is he this fucking sweet. “I _swear_ , Scott—”

“Okay, okay,” Scott says. “I gotchu, babe.”

Scott must’ve found the lube, because the hand on Mitch’s back is gone for a second, and when it comes back the other hand is at his hole. Like earlier, he gets one in wonderfully fast, so that the first hot burn stings the whole way in—but then he tries to _hold still_ again.

“More,” Mitch demands, instead of trying to use his body, the arch of his back and the cant of his hips, to get it—because last time all it did was _distract_ Scott, and he wants—

Yes, _that_ , another finger sliding home, lovely long fingers. Thicker than they look, and of course Scott knows just what to do with them. Crooks them to just the right angle at just the right time—Mitch _knew_ telling Scott so much about his sex life had to pay off _some_ day, and with the pads of two fingers rubbing circles over his prostate, god, today is _obviously_ that day.

“Shit, look at you,” Scott gasps from behind Mitch, hand on his back getting heavier for a delicious second even as his voice pulls Mitch’s attention from the impersonal tingle of pleasure inside. “I could watch you like this—Fuck. Ready for a third?”

“Yeah, yes, okay,” Mitch says, mostly so Scott will stop talking.

The third finger goes in easy, Mitch’s body _giving_ for it, and Scott makes a deep, appreciative sound, but there are no words so Mitch doesn’t have to think about it.

Mitch tries to spur him on, to snark, “Hurry it up and fuck me already,” but it comes out kind of slurred, shit. He didn’t mean to sound like, like _that_.

“What,” Scott replies, and at least he sounds kinda fucked up too. He twists the fingers he has buried in Mitch, and has to suck in a sharp breath right after, when Mitch clenches up without meaning to. “You, ah, tryin’a say you’re not enjoying this?”

He can't help himself. It doesn't matter if it gets him what he wants; he has to do it, can't fight the urge anymore. Mitch spreads his knees a little more, widens his stance and digs his shoulders into the bed to exaggerate the slope of his back. “ _Please_ ,” he says, begs with his voice as well as his body, “fuck me.”

There’s a moment where all Mitch can hear is the mismatched melody of their uneven breathing. He feels Scott’s gaze like fire on his skin. It goes on _forever_ , an eternity counted out in the Mitch’s pulse, the throb of it around Scott’s fingers through thin skin.

“ _Shit_ , yeah, okay, hang on,” Scott says, and then he pulls out and his fingers are _gone_.

 _No_ , what.

“That doesn’t mean leave me _empty_ ,” Mitch says on a groan. He twists his hand in the sheets and rubs his cheek against them, tries to distract himself with the way they drag over the damp, hot skin. It doesn’t work.

There’s a ripping sound, the bed shifting behind him. Then Scott is back, one hand on Mitch’s hip and the other somewhere— _else_ , somewhere not-on-Mitch, not important.

“I know, hang on, I’m—there,” Scott says, lining himself up. He pushes in, just a little, the head of his cock the only thing inside Mitch. He—stops.

“Oh my fucking god, I will _kill you_ ,” Mitch wails.

“Fuck,” Scott says, all deep and rough, like it’s tearing him up just as much as it is Mitch. But then _why is he stopping_.

Mitch struggles up onto his elbows and twists to level a fierce look over his shoulder. “ _Scott_.”

“Y-yeah,” Scott stammers, messy fingers going tight on Mitch’s thigh. His hips stutter, too, and the full length of him slams in all at once, tears a moan right out of Mitch’s chest. “Sorry, yeah.”

Finally, finally, Scott is fucking him properly. Moving all hard and thick inside him, a steady rhythm that Scott changes just enough to keep it from getting old, grazing Mitch’s prostate at least every few thrusts. And always, always, his _hands_ on him.

It’s the best Mitch has had in—easily the last five years. Ever, maybe. It’s _great_.

Mitch can’t take it, turns his face into the pillow. His eyes might be stinging, but they’re screwed so tightly shut he can’t tell for sure. God. This is perf—

Scott, goddamn it, _stops again_. Mitch whines.

“Hang on,” Scott says, urgent all over again. “Just wanna—I gotta see you.”

“Wha—”

Scott is already rolling Mitch over, those huge paws of his pulling and Mitch doesn’t know how to resist. They’re facing each other which is—Mitch doesn’t do it like this, he _never_ —But Scott makes a velvety, satisfied sound, and Mitch gets to wrap his legs around him, and okay, it’s good too, it could maybe even be better. Still the solid weight of Scott on top of him, pressing him heavy and warm into the mattress, only now there’s also those shoulders for Mitch to loop his arms over and cling to, sink his teeth in.

And better even than _that_ , maybe best of all, Scott’s face above his looking down all soft and open and—and—

It’s something new, to _feel_ this much during sex. To want to cup someone’s cheeks in his hands and just _watch_ them, while he’s getting fucked—still wants to dig his nails into Scott’s back and scratch him up, see how wild it’ll drive him, but he wants to do the other thing, too.

None of this is even going the way Mitch thought it was gonna—he wanted to make Scott all crazy, make him lose his mind. Instead, Scott’s sweating and flushed and breathing heavy but _watching_ , intense focus in his damn, too-blue eyes. He’s into it, yeah, starting to look a little wild with it, but _Mitch_ is losing _his_ mind right along with him.

Mitch can’t stop _staring_.

It’s Scott’s fucking—those stupid gorgeous eyes, the way they can be all dark with lust and lit up from inside at the same time. Mitch wants to kiss Scott’s stupid face while he’s getting fucked, _because_ Scott’s fucking him, and that’s new and amazing.

And Scott _is_ fucking him. These long, uneven thrusts, he can't hold a rhythm because he keeps stopping to press kisses to whatever part of Mitch he can reach. Like he’s having the same problem Mitch is, but he doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem.

Mitch is starting to feel that tightening in his gut that means he’s getting close, but there’s no way, he doesn’t. He. Fuck. He’s never gotten so hot this fast—he’s leaking over his stomach, little shivers in his muscles, balls aching, every nerve on _fire_ —not like _this_. Face-to-face doesn’t _work_ for him, he’s tried it. It’s never been _bad_ , he doesn’t _have_ bad sex, but he doesn’t like it that much, usually avoids it. He’s always thought it was—too intimate. Uncomfortable.

He’s… very rapidly changing his mind.

“Scott,” he moans, before he knows he’s going to, right into Scott’s mouth.

“Mitch,” Scott replies, or at least that’s what Mitch thinks he says, and it’s, this is different, like… neither of them is in charge, they’re _together_ , which is. It’s. _Oooh_.

With the next thrust, Scott gets the angle _just right_ and Mitch is _wailing_ before he knows it—perfect pressure inside him and Scott’s adoring, blissed-out, _perfect_ face above him, all of it too much. He didn’t know sex could _feel_ like this. Scott laughs.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Scott whispers, and who gave him permission to sound like _that_. “Want you to feel _amazing_.”

Mitch almost says the first thing that crosses his mind, almost tells him _you don’t even have to try_ , but thank fuck, what he comes out with instead is, “Don’t _stop_.”

“No, not gonna,” Scott says, presses kisses. His thrusts speed up and— _how_ , how is he doing this—seem to reach farther without actually getting deeper. Like they’re hitting something in his chest, reaching something nobody’s ever touched during sex before.

Mitch—okay, he whimpers. “You—you're gonna make me come,” he says, all breathy and urgent. He’s, okay, it’s, _maybe_ it’s a _little_ surprising, nobody’s even touching his dick.

He comes on Scott’s cock, mid-thrust—going tight, Scott grunts like he has to _work_ to get back in, then goes still. It's—it shouldn't be that different, he came riding Scott just a couple hours ago, there's no reason this should feel so new.

It rolls through him like a miracle anyway, with Scott still and reverent above him, a real actual miracle, and that’s the thought that has Mitch pulsing over his own stomach and clenching around the dick deep in him.

“God, Mitchy,” Scott says, still really fucking fond but a little strained now too. “You’re so—I wish you could feel how amazing you feel right now.”

Mitch opens his eyes—that he doesn’t remember closing—and glares up at him. “Okay. But I didn’t fucking tell you to stop.”

Scott laughs, a rumble from deep inside him that Mitch can _feel_ like more sweet aftershocks of his own orgasm, and starts moving again.

It’s still hotter than any other five hot things that have ever happened to him, but with his dick going soft, spent, the good kind of tender—like this, Mitch can’t help but focus on the fact it’s _Scott_ above him, _in_ him. It’s Scott driving into him, pulling those soft, low noises out of his throat. Scott looking at him, lips parted and eyes shining. _Scott_ , who he always—who he’s probably never actually stopped—not since he first—

Scott’s hand on his cheek, turning his face back when Mitch tries to look away, to hide from at _least_ this one, humiliating truth. Scott, who’s leaning down to press their foreheads to each other, rub their noses together all eskimo kissing while he pushes in and goes still. Scott, whose voice breaks when he says Mitch’s name as he comes.

Mitch pretends there aren’t tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, folds his hands around Scott’s dear, dear face, and leans up the half an inch needed to kiss him.

#

**scomicheisveryreal**  
OMG are you guys for real with your vid this week. like, really?!

 **ptxstolemyheart**  
i’m gonna die okay bye

 **luvscruffyscott**  
scott. is. glowing.

 **scotthoyingismydad**  
for ppl bored on a tour bus they look rly happy

 **scomicheisveryreal**  
look i dunno whats happening but i hope it nvr stops


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